


In Which Domestic Life Suits John

by thequeergiraffe



Series: The Spaces In-between [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock is stroppy, angst-free zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/pseuds/thequeergiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock sees everything, so how he failed to notice that John is now happily married is a mystery.</p><p>(Can be read as a standalone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Domestic Life Suits John

_John:_

"Back at Baker Street," I smile, glancing around the sitting room. I am pleased, genuinely pleased, for the first time in months. The little flat is warm and cluttered with Sherlock's things- not the ones I remember, of course, those having been donated to charity when Sherlock 'died', but his things nonetheless. I rub the soft fabric of the sofa's arms and smile even harder, my cheeks already starting to hurt.  _Baker Street._

Sherlock is smiling too, his long body draped across the carpet, his hands hidden in the mess of dark hair that he still styles just the same, as though nothing had changed in the last three and half years. It almost feels that way, with his name cleared and the old flat surrounding us on all sides. It's almost easy to pretend that nothing's changed.

"I've had Mrs. Hudson tidy your old room," Sherlock says, snapping me out of my reverie, "so you can bring all your things from Sarah's-"

"Mary," I laugh. "Her name is Mary. And what on Earth are you talking about?"

Sherlock's turned his head to me, one eyebrow raised. "Your room. Upstairs?" He wiggles his fingers towards the steps. "I expect you'll want to move in immediately."

"Move in?" I sit up in disbelief. "Sherlock, I… Surely you don't expect me to move back in?"

Sherlock sits up as well, pivoting on his bottom so that his robe bunches around him. "The commute from here to Sarah's flat-"

" _Mary._ Mine and  _Mary's_ flat."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock continues: "- _Mary's_ flat is far too impractical. Too much distance. I need you to be on hand quickly if we're to get an urgent case."

The cases, I'd almost forgotten. Of course, after the mess Sherlock had left behind him, he wasn't allowed to play "consulting detective" anymore…so they'd made him an actual detective, with his own badge and everything. Dangerous stuff. Sighing, I remind him: "It's great that you're back to work, Sherlock, but I've got my own job to contend with, and I might add that my surgery is only three blocks from me and Mary's flat."

"You're staying at the surgery?" All incredulous, like he'd expected me to drop everything and pick up where we'd left off.

"Of course I'm staying at the surgery. I've got bills to pay, haven't I?"

Sherlock dismisses this with a huff and flap of his slender white hand. "My pay is sufficient to sustain us, I presume."

I put my hands on my cheeks and take a deep breath. "Please tell me you're joking." My old friend's blank stare tells me his decisively is not. "Unbelievable. Sherlock, I'm  _married_. I can't just run off on adventures all whismy-nimsy like I used to. I live with my  _wife_ , in a flat that I pay for with my _job_. Are you following this at all?"

His head turned at a slight angle, Sherlock almost looks childish in his confusion. "You're married?"

"You can't be serious!" I leap up, half-angry, half…I don't even know. Amused? Delighted by the fact that Sherlock never, ever changes? "Yes, yes, I'm married, though how you haven't managed to figure that out in the two months you spent kipping on my couch-"

"I had other things on my mind," Sherlock sniffs. "I was a fugitive, as you'll recall." He presses his hands together just below his chin, his eyes distant. "Very well. Mrs. Hudson will be disappointed." Looking around the room, he sighs almost theatrically. "Though I suppose I  _could_ keep the place, use it as a laboratory or a headquarters of sorts. Hmm."

"What…" Now I'm exceptionally confused. "What are you…I don't…well, where are  _you_ going, then?"

"To your flat," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Tell me, how does Mary feel about the violin?"

"Sherlock!" I'm exasperated at this point, my temples beginning to ache just a touch. "You can't move in with me! I'm  _married_. My wife has a normal job, just like me, and she needs to be able to sleep at night. You can't live with us."

"So, we're to live separately?" The idea seems foreign and wholly unwelcome to him. "But…what if I need you?"

"Send me a text." I yawn; the surgery was busy this afternoon, and I'm ready for a nice home-cooked meal and a lie down.

Sherlock eyes me with something bordering contempt. "Huh! Domestic life suits you, does it? Yes, I can see that. Shall I ring Mycroft for some diet tips?"

I smile wanly. "Hilarious, Sherlock. Yes, let's get all pouty." I stand and scoop my coat from the armrest, tugging it on with a stretch of my tired muscles. "I'm going home. But listen: I'm off tomorrow, so I'll call you and maybe I can swing 'round. Sound good?"

Sherlock doesn't answer me. He falls like a fussy child on to the couch, the line of his back rigidly turned towards me. This, I think is the most I'll get from him tonight. With a clearing of my throat and a quick "good night, Sherlock", I slip out of the flat and down the stairs, sparing Mrs. Hudson a kiss the way.


End file.
